Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The single tear dripping down the model’s made-up face is a tell tale sign there was trouble on the runway. Don’t smudge it, sweetie, you want to say, but hold back. The crying doesn’t bother her cigarette-smoking mother, who is busy recounting the model’s moments of glory and announcing future plans.
She’s going to be a designer, or an interior decorator. Maybe work in advertising, the mother says. At least this one doesn’t want to be an actor, you think, staring at the silent, pretty face tucked behind the model’s dangling hair. She’s 14, been at since 12. It’s a job, the mother says, but will be the gateway to a career. In something.
There’s a tap on her back, then a smile from a stranger. “You did amazing,” the stranger gushes to the model. The heels were far too big, wobbling warily down the runway, they both agree. The models sniffles, smiles, and regains her composure, which she will need.
The meeting with IMG is in the morning, the mother says.
Labels:
chloe beckerman,
david dixon,
toronto fashion week
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